𝐍𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘, 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄 - kiara carrera²

𝒙𝒗𝒊. 𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

EVERYTHING WAS WHITE. The walls, the door the bed - all white, all unrecognisable. Tatum stood up, circling the small, square room with curiosity. No TV, no wardrobe, the windows were barred from the outside and the latches on the bottom of them were locked, making it nearly impossible for her to escape. The bed was made out of basic metal, but each part of the construction was coated with a plastic layer and attached to the floor. The door was locked from the outside, not even a handle rested on the in, trapping her into the room even more. There was nothing else. No more doors. No more objects. No more nothing.

A grey, itchy jumper and jogger combo clung loosely to her body, and the socks were thick with a disgusting shade of neon pink. For a moment, she wondered if she was dead. If the cut on her neck was enough to kill her. She wondered how her friends felt. Her family probably laughed. The rest of the world would be relieved. The Midnight Ghoul had finally snuck up on herself, and the island of Outerbanks was safe at last. But when she ran her fingers over her throat, she found herself pressing on a fluffy bandage. Was this a practical joke? Was JJ Maybank sitting behind these walls, barking with uncontrollable laughter?

Machinery sounds could be heard from behind the door, and Tatum raised her fists, ready for anyone to come through. Ready to kill them with her bare hands if she had to.

A woman stepped in with six men behind her. Not just men. Guards. They wore heavy suits of armour and carried weapons in their belts, the flag of their county sitting on their right breast.

"Since you missed your court dates both times around, the judge has surprisingly been lenient towards you, thanks to the good word of Sheriff Shoupe of the Kildare County Sheriff's department," the woman spoke in a posh, strangely comforting, British accent. She held her hand out to Tatum Quinn. "I'm Dr.Milburn, I'll be your psychiatrist during today's evaluation."

Tatum looked down at her hand but didn't shake it. She met the woman's eye with a dangerous smirk. "You think your boys scare me?"

"Of course not," Dr.Milburn answered simply, "but unfortunately, they have to be by my side as I interview particularly violent patients."

𑁍𑁍𑁍

"HE'S NOT GONNA COME."

Twenty minutes later, Dr Milburn had finished explaining the fast process of today to the teenage mass murderer. Because it was unusual for such a young person (or literally any serial killer) to murder over thirty people in less than two month's time, it was obvious that Tatum had some form of insanity. Plus, a few of the citizens of her town vouched for her, saying she wasn't killing to be a killer, it was because of the plague her own mind had given her. These people were listed as Pope Heyward, JJ Maybank, Sarah Cameron, Kiara Carrera, Leroy Quinn and Sheriff Shoupe, but their names were confidential and the mass murderer was not allowed to know of them or their statements. Which meant she'd never know Leroy fought for her.

For the next few hours, she'd go through multiple mental health assessments, and have to share her trauma, her triggers and her thoughts. By the end of the day, Dr.Milburn would determine whether or not Tatum could plead insanity to her case, and stay at the hospital. However, if the evaluation came back and she wasn't diagnosed with anything, she would go onto battling against basic society in court, and ultimately face execution when she turned eighteen in less than two years.

But there was one problem with this plan. Tatum needed a parent/guardian with her during her time of questioning, despite her telling the doctor that there was no way her dad was going to show up.

Then the door opened. Tatum's eyes widened. "I'm her dad - I'm her legal guardian," the voice stated, holding up a stack of paper documents. "Sorry I'm late; I just got the forms this morning."

With a kind, assuring smile, Heyward walked towards the couch and sat beside his daughter, her baby brother on his lap. His eyes darted down at the girl's heavily bandaged neck with guilt. He should've been there. All these years, he could've easily stepped up end helped out, but instead, he watched her destroy herself for her family. And now, here she was, so much blood on her hands, and zero empathy for any of it.

"And who's this little delight?" asked Dr.Milburn, handing a rattle toy to the young baby.

"TJ," Tatum answered with a pained smile, tears welling up in her eyes. She was supposed to look after him. She was supposed to protect him. And within days, she had failed him. Just like her dad. "He's my little brother."

"Right. Well, let's get this started, then, shall we? This discussion will be recorded and shown to the judge of your trial as evidence, if it comes to you being unfit to step up to the court."

So Tatum went on. From start to finish, for the first time in her life, Tatum let everything go. From her dad's abuse, her dad's rape, her dad's manipulation, to her self harm, to her suicidal thoughts, to her mood swings, to the fires she started, to the fights she won, to her lack of concentration, to her need for validation, to all the murders she committed, she told told the woman everything.

Heyward sat by her side, his heart breaking at every sob that escaped that girl's mouth, at every break in her voice as she went over her ruined childhood. He wasn't a violent person, but the things he would do if he got hold of Nathan Quinn...

Dr.Milburn nodded along at every word and every sentence, writing down speedy notes, and listening carefully to the girl's story.

All the way until the very end.

"In the few hours of hour conversation, I've been able to identify four definite disorders in you," the woman spoke with smooth confidence, her legs crossed over her loveseat, "which, therefore, means you are unfit to participate in a trial."

Heyward let out a relieved sigh, and squeezed his girl tightly, tears streaming down his face. "What are the diagnosises?" he asked with intrigue, prepared to do whatever it took to help Tatum.

"Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) -"

Tatum nodded, already knowing she had that from a young age, when her preschool teachers decided to label her themselves.

"- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) -"

It made sense, considering all the times she heard her father's voice in her head, sending her into breakdowns. Or those times in the Crain well. The way she vomited after the orgasm.

"- Bipolar Disorder -"

This time, she let out a huff and stubbornly crossed her arms. A few weeks ago, she remembered Pope trying to convince her that she had this, but she refused to believe it. He was only trying to help her, but she didn't want to be labelled as crazy. Especially when it wasn't true.

"- And Antisocial Personality Disorder, more commonly known as Sociopathy."

This one made her freeze. Nope. No fucking way. She was going to kill this lying bitch. Sociopaths can't love, right? And Tatum loved a lot of people. To the point where she'd murder whole cities for them. She wouldn't let anyone harm the people she loved. She'd go absolutely crazy without them. She needed them all the time. She relied on them to look after her during breakdowns...the more she thought about it, the more she realised she sounded like a socio. But that wasn't the point. There was no way she was having that extreme label on her back.

"Can I get a make up test?"